14 June 2016

“It strikes me profoundly that the world is more often than not a bad and cruel place.” ~ Bret Easton Ellis, American Psycho

I woke up Sunday morning to hear of the tragedy that happened in Orlando, Florida. It is the worst mass shooting in American history. My heart aches for all the victims and their families. It is just so senseless and tragic. Events like this make me want to give up on the human race.

On Saturday morning, G and I had brunch with my old neighbor, S, who moved to Ohio last summer. She came back to NYC to visit with her two sons, and her one month old baby daughter. I had not even realized that she was pregnant, let alone that she had given birth. She had to undergo fertility treatments to conceive her boys, and so this baby was completely unexpected. She said that she had thought that she was going through pre-menopause when her cycles suddenly stopped, but a visit to her doctor confirmed that she was instead pregnant. Imagine that -- her fertility doctors had sworn that she would never be able to conceive without medical intervention, and yet here she is now. It just goes to show that the human body is a wonder and a mystery and that sometimes miracles do happen.

After brunch, G and I went to Bowne Park in Queens. The park has a pond that is home to families of turtles.

And apparently it is also home to people who know how to have a good time, as evidenced by this sidewalk chalk advertisement. G actually wanted to ring the number. I had to explain to her that it was not real. Oh, how I love the innocence of children. Later on, I got to thinking about what her nine year old mind considers "a good time." Was she thinking that if we rang the number that little ponies and puppies would magically appear? I should ask her later.

In this politically correct world in which we now live, we can no longer call people out for certain behaviors because they might be part of a protected class. If we say anything that might be construed as offensive to a member of a protected class, we are labeled as racist, as a bigot, or simply an asshole.

There is this guy on the train that takes the same train as I do every morning. It is always a packed train, and everyone knows where to stand on the platform so that it lines up perfectly to where the train door opens when it stops. In order to stand at that prime spot, you have to get there well in advance of the time when the train is due to arrive. For the most part, people are relatively decent and do not really try to jump the line to get to the front. This guy, however, straggles in right when the train arrives, but forcibly uses his massive size to cut in front of everyone and push people so that he can board the train first and find a seat. And because of his enormous girth, he takes up two seats. He has no regard for the frail, elderly, or children, and his only goal is to make sure he is first on the train so that he can always find a seat.

Now, this is New York City. This is a city where most people do not hold their tongue and when someone commits an offense, they are called out on it. If this guy was a skinny Caucasian male, the whole train would have been in an uproar over his lack of train etiquette. But because he is fat and Muslim, no one says a word. No one wants to say anything to him about his disgusting behavior because to do so might cause others to deem you to be prejudiced and a bigot. No one wants to say what they are really thinking: that he is a fat pig who uses his size as an excuse to be an asshole. Just to be clear, I do not call him a pig because he is fat. I call him a pig because of his uncouth manners.

Fortunately for him, he has not yet pushed me. I have only been a witness to his appalling actions. But if he does ever push me, I will most definitely say something to him. I am not going to sit back and watch him get away with being an asshole just to spare his feelings.

06 June 2016

“Once upon a time, each of us was somebody's kid. Everyone had a father, even if he never provided anything more than his seed. Everyone had a mother, even if she had to leave us on a stranger's doorstep. No matter how we're eventually raised, all of our stories begin the exact same way. They all end the same, too.” ~ Brian K. Vaughan, Saga, Volume 1

Since the apocalypse didn't happen, G and I went to Washington Square Park and we had lunch in the West Village on Saturday. The weather was balmy with temperatures hovering around 82F/27C.

On Sunday evening, we went to the local pizzeria and each ordered a slice to take home to eat as we watched the Miss USA Pageant. It was really a rare event, as she and I do not watch such programs. We usually watch the news or foreign films together, as I am not such a big fan of pageants or even talent shows, but somehow it came on the television as we were trying to find something to watch, and she decided that she wanted to have a look.

The segment that we watched highlighted the lives of some of the contestants, and in particular it featured how the fathers of the contestants played a central role in the successes of the young women. Some of the stories were quite touching. I turned around to look at G, and I saw that she had tears rolling down her cheeks. I asked her what was wrong, and she answered, simply, "I wish I had a dad that loves me like these dads love their daughters."

I was gutted. I was unsure how to answer so I just gave her a hug. Sometimes words are just useless and at that moment I felt that nothing I could say would ease that longing in her heart for a father who loves and cares about her.

We only have one or two days left. How will you live out the last days of your life?

If the world does end in the next few days, it has been really nice knowing you all, and I will see you all on the other side.

In other news, I started a food diary. Well, it's not really a diary so much as it is just an account of my daily food intake. I started yesterday, 1 June, as a sort of mid-year goal to keep track of my eating habits.

I can say that it really makes it less fun to eat when you hold yourself accountable and have to write down everything you consume.

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About Me

"It was a pleasant cafe, warm and clean and friendly, and I hung up my old water-proof on the coat rack to dry and put my worn and weathered felt hat on the rack above the bench and ordered a cafe au lait. The waiter brought it and I took out a notebook from the pocket of the coat and a pencil and started to write. ” ~ Ernest Hemingway

"All our young lives we search for someone to love, someone who makes us complete. We choose partners and change partners. We dance to a song of heartbreak and hope all the while wondering if somewhere and somehow there is someone searching for us." ~ Kevin, The Wonder Years